


frost

by Fiery_Keys



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, post 4x02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 12:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20389759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiery_Keys/pseuds/Fiery_Keys
Summary: "Before she can blink, Killian takes off his jacket and carefully wraps it around her. Emma grips the fabric, tugging it close and misses Killian’s clenched jaw and furrowed brow."-After the ice cave, Killian is haunted by visions of Emma freezing to death and begins to constantly worry over the slightest sign of her feeling cold.





	frost

** frost **

The first time it happens, Emma really isn’t in a state to notice anything and even if she _was, _she probably wouldn’t think there was anything strange about it, considering what had just happened.

After escaping from the ice cave, in the safety of the loft, Emma’s family wraps her in blankets and plies her with too many cups of hot chocolate to count as Elsa hovers nervously in the background, doing everything she can to help. Killian is by her side through it all, kneeling on the floor beside her chair with his arm wrapped around her, his fingers tracing soothing, warm circles on her back.

As David catches Mary Margaret up to speed on what happened, Emma feels herself shifting in and out of awareness, her head falling limply onto Killian’s shoulder as drowsiness seizes her in full force. She doesn’t realize that Mary Margaret has brought in another couple of blankets until she feels Killian tuck them around her securely.

Emma huffs out a laugh. Her teeth are no longer chattering, nor are her limbs trembling, but she’s so _tired_ that even laughing is quite the endeavor. “A-are you trying to turn me into a human burrito?” she jokes.

Killian is confused for a split-second before his expression gives way to a decidedly unamused one. “Pardon me, love, but I’d like to ensure that you feel as warm and safe as possible,” he says firmly. “After the ordeal you just went through, I’d say extra blankets are _certainly _a necessity.”

_His old fashioned talk is so adorable, _is the barely coherent thought that flashes through Emma’s mind at his words. Outwardly, she says:

“I’m _fine_.”

“No, you are _not_,” Killian retorts, exasperated. “Your Highness, tell her I’m right.”

Beside them, Mary Margaret, even through her worry, fights back a smile at their bickering. “He’s right, Emma,” she says gently and Emma mutters, _traitor_, under her breath. “Maybe you should go to bed,” Mary Margaret continues. “You look worn out.”

Emma shakes her head. “Let Elsa take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Elsa looks aghast at the suggestion. “Emma, I couldn’t possibly…!” The look on Killian’s face indicates that he thinks the same. Emma decides to ignore this for now.

“It’s fine, really,” she insists. “Besides, I don’t think I could make it up the stairs in this state.” Elsa only looks further perturbed and Emma reflects that that might not have been the best thing to say.

Fortunately, with a little more persuasion, Elsa reluctantly agrees, and David ushers her upstairs. Mary Margaret prepares the couch and Killian helps Emma onto it, tucking her securely under the blankets. As he stands to leave, Emma grabs his hand.

“Stay?”

Killian hesitates and glances at Mary Margaret, as if seeking her permission. The princess only smiles, and goes to check on Neal. Cautiously, Killian lowers himself onto the couch beside Emma.

“Are you sure?” he whispers softly.

Emma nods. Maybe it’s the after effects of the terrible ordeal she’s been through, or maybe it’s the dim lighting and the fact that she cannot read his expression that gives her a little courage and allows her to be vulnerable. “Please,” she murmurs, tightening her grip on his hand.

He stays.

* * *

The next time it happens, they are on their first date and have left the restaurant to take a stroll on the beach. Killian is telling her stories of his many adventures on the high seas, seeming much more composed and relaxed as compared to before.

Emma can barely remember the last time she smiled and laughed as much as she is now, she can’t remember the last time she felt so carefree. Its cliché, really, but she can’t help but wish that this night would last forever.

It’s a slightly chilly night and a sudden breeze makes Emma shiver momentarily. Before she can blink, Killian takes off his jacket and carefully wraps it around her. Emma grips the fabric, tugging it close and is so distracted by how the jacket smells so _distinctly_ like him that she misses Killian’s clenched jaw and furrowed brow.

“Aren’t you the gentleman?” Emma teases, her mind taking her back to their first adventure.

“Always, love,” Killian replies, but there is something forced about the levity in his voice. Emma’s smile slips from her face and she frowns, reaching up to cup his cheek in her hand.

“Are you alright?”

Killian doesn’t answer, but instead dips his head to kiss her, slipping an arm around her waist and tugging her close. He kisses her with a quiet sort of desperation, something that triggers warning bells in Emma’s head even as she kisses him back, but she can barely get a word out as he deepens the kiss even further, moving to bury his hand in her hair, uncaring of the fact that they are out in the open.

By the time they part, flushed and breathless, Killian is smiling down widely at her and all of Emma’s previous concerns have vanished.

* * *

The third time, the time she _finally_ notices and says something about it, they are in the Sheriff’s Station, looking over any paperwork that might lead them back to the Snow Queen. The window is open (left so presumably by David) and when a cold breeze blows in, causing Emma to shudder momentarily, Killian instantly hurries to close the window and turn up the heat, his moments jerky and uncoordinated in his haste.

Emma drops the file she had been looking over back into its stack and gets up. “Alright,” she says decisively. “What’s going on?”

Killian glances at her, looking almost guilty. “What do you mean, love?”

“You know what I mean. All of this-“she gestures around them. “You keep going to the extremes every time I show the slightest hint of feeling cold. _Why_?”

Killian sighs heavily and sits down on the couch. Emma joins him, taking his hand in hers, running her thumb over his calloused knuckles.

“Hey,” she says softly. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Killian swallows and manages a nod. “Aye.”

“So, what’s going on?”

He sighs again. “Ever since the ice cave,” he begins finally. “I keep dreaming of you freezing to death in there, I keep dreaming of losing you, and I can’t-“he breaks off, and Emma feels her heart ache. “I can’t bear the thought of that. I suppose it’s just become an instinct…to make sure that you never have to feel cold, that you’ll never be in danger of dying like that again…”

Emma tugs on the lapels of his coat, resting her forehead against his. It all makes so much sense now. She can’t believe he’s been feeling like this for so long, that he’s been hiding this from her for so long…

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” she whispers.

Killian cracks a smile. “I suppose I’ve never been too good at talking about my feelings, love.”

Emma manages to grin at his words. “Yeah, I get that. I guess we’ll both have to work on that, huh?”

“Aye, indeed.”

Killian continues to endeavor to keep her warm for the days to come and Emma never protests. She knows this is something he needs, something that haunts him, and if it helps him, well…

…and she can’t help but admit that it’s rather nice to be taken care of, like this, for the first time in her life.

* * *

When Emma becomes the Dark One, she feels cold _all_ the time.

It’s not the physical type of cold that she is used to. It is an icy chill that seems to consume her from within, that makes her feel like her bones, her heart, the very blood running in her veins-are all freezing over. She supposes it might be one of the many side effects of being consumed by the most powerful darkness in all of history. And it may quite well be the _worst_.

Emma is no stranger to panic attacks, but with this encompassing cold that grips her mercilessly, the attacks come frequently and violently, leaving her teary eyed and gasping as her lungs seem to _refuse_ to take in oxygen.

Huddled in the solitude of the their rooms in Camelot, Killian attempts to comfort her during these times, holding her until she calms down, until she no longer feels like there is a vice gripping her throat, until the weight that seems to press down on her chest disappears.

“Sorry,” she mutters hoarsely in the aftermath of an attack, curled up on the bed, feeling small and vulnerable. Killian shakes his head fervently, tears shining in his eyes as he presses a glass of water into her hand.

“Don’t apologize, my love,” he waits till she finishes her water before speaking again. “Tell me what I can do to help you.”

Emma offers him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do in this case, Killian.”

“Emma…”

“This isn’t purely physical, you know. It’s like it…it’s like the cold is beginning within my body itself, as if the darkness is creating and feeding it. There’s nothing…”

She breaks off suddenly, a tortured light coming into her eyes as she sees Rumplestiltskin again, lurking in the corner of her vision. Killian curses and moves to block her view, gazing into her eyes.

“Hey, Swan. _Emma_. Focus on me. Tell me what you need,” he’s almost pleading at this point, wanting for nothing more than to ease her pain. “Whatever you need, I…_just_ _let me help you_.”

“Hold me,” Emma says at last, her voice cracking. “Please, just hold me.”

They lie together in the darkness, Emma wrapped in Killian’s arms, her back to his chest. She trembles against him for a long while before finally; she quiets and turns in his arms to face him.

“Thank you,” she whispers, pressing her lips to his.

“You don’t have to thank me, love.”

She does not sleep, of course, for Dark Ones do not sleep; but she watches him, traces the contours of his face with her fingers, smiles at how relaxed he is while asleep, until her heart and head are peaceful again and the icy chill has thawed.

It’s probably not permanent, Emma thinks, she is sure that the cold, like Rumplestiltskin, will visit again when she is at her weakest and when she doesn’t have Killian, her rock, by her side.

But, it’s a start.


End file.
